


The Fear of Crowley

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Terrifies His Houseplants, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Gardens & Gardening, M/M, POV Houseplants, Plants, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-04 01:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: One began to tremble.  Its neighbours quickly shushed it.  They stood at attention but a recently added flamingo flower broke down in the plant version of anxiety.  It had been the target of their owner’s wrath last week because it had yet to produce blooms.A look at Crowley’s treatment of his houseplants from their point of view.





	1. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a demon just has to cull his plants.

It had been a few days since he had been around, but the plants knew better than to let their guard down. He would show up again and there would be cullings if things were not up to his strict standards. They reached towards to the windows, stretching towards the sunlight that would keep them the best shades of green as only the healthiest colours were allowed.

One or two of them let their leaves lower just a little bit. While they obviously needed to be at their best when he was in the flat, they did relax sometimes when the coast was clear. Lately he had not been around much but when he had, he was in a foul mood. They kept what passed for ears in plants tuned to the front door. Once it slammed shut, they had about thirty seconds to look their best before he entered the plant room.

He chose this room because of the floor-to-ceiling windows all along the west that provided them with as good of light as you could get in the middle of London, supplemented with grow lights hanging from the ceiling. Terror alone couldn’t make a plant bigger or greener.

But even with light, water and the occasional shot of fertilizer, the onus was on them to always look their best. Many a fellow plant had come and gone, succumbing to leaf spots, wilt or lackluster growth. Failure to thrive was not an option here. Nobody would nurse you back to health. You were verdant, luxurious and healthy-looking or you were unceremoniously shredded in the garbage disposal while the remaining flora was treated to one of his temper tantrums. If that was your fate, at least you could thank your lucky stars plants did not possess nerves.

The door opened than slammed shut one early afternoon following a several days’ absence. The terror in the plant room became palatable. Suddenly everyone from the smallest African violet to the tallest Kentia palm immediately perked up.

_Must be green! Must be tall!_

One began to tremble. Its neighbours quickly shushed it. They stood at attention but a recently added flamingo flower broke down in the plant version of anxiety. It had been the target of their owner’s wrath last week because it had yet to produce blooms. It had a month to grow at least three and was reminded every misting that the clock was ticking. It was doing its best to produce flower stalks and had managed a small one. 

Footsteps.

_Must be green! Must be tall!_

“So. How are we doing today?” He stood there in a deceptively casual stance, plant mister held at his side. Yellow eyes darted from plant to plant, inspecting each for flaws.

He caressed the leaves of a rubber plant, the plant doing its best not to recoil in fear. Close inspections were never a good thing and this particular plant had been warned before. Its untouched leaves visibly raised; if it had been possible to make itself greener instantaneously, it would have.

“Didn’t we already have a discussion a few weeks ago about your poor growth rate?” he hissed in a soft, menacing voice to it. “You have one week to give me five centimeters of growth or I’ll throw you off the balcony. You can rot slowly on the pavement for all I care.”

The flamingo flower was addressed next as he misted them. It tried its best to shrink to an unnoticeable size in its pot, but that trick was well known by their owner. Many a plant had tried such a tactic and failed.

“You’re running out of time. I only see one pathetic bloom stalk. I want flowers. That’s the point of you, isn’t it? Remember what happened to peace lily that wouldn’t bloom?”

The flamingo flower remembered all too well. He had scooped it up in a fit of anger, showed its lack of blooms to everyone in the room, then left for an hour only to return with an empty pot he set in the middle of the floor. The plants endured horror-filled thoughts of what happened to their former friend until he decided to remove it three days later. 

They lost another of their friends during that dark time. A pothos could not endure the pressure, breaking down in a nervous wilt that earned it a trip to the garbage disposal. Their owner did like a plant that would tremble nicely when threatened, but completely nervous wrecks were not tolerated.

He put down the mister, picked up the watering can and stalked around checking each plant’s soil, occasionally watering one here and there. A few others received some fertilizer.

“Well. What do we have here?” He eyed a small English ivy with one brown leaf tip. 

Its neighbours recoiled, getting as far away from the chosen target as they possibly could. Its pot was yanked off the shelf it sat on with surprising speed. Those unforgiving yellow eyes examined it while a sneer formed on their owner’s mouth.

“What have you been told about leaf spots? I will not tolerate anything less than perfect foliage, do you understand?”

The room filled with the sound of rustling leaves as the entire collection of greenery trembled violently. One could almost hear the offending English ivy crying in fear. 

“Oh dear, there is going to be one less plant in here now, isn’t there? I suggest the rest of you start putting in some effort before you share your friend’s fate.”

He stalked off down the hall to the kitchen, a room filled with pristine grey granite counters and unused stainless steel appliances. Flicking on the garbage disposal, he let it run for about thirty seconds while conjuring up a pot identical to the one the plant was currently residing in. 

If foliage could look confused, this one would have as it sensed its owner walking back to the plant room, leaving it by the sink.

“Grow better!” 

The angry voice drifted back to it along with the sound of a ceramic pot clanging hollowly as it was placed on the tile floor. Footsteps followed as the plant’s owner returned to the kitchen.

It found itself grabbed up, taken out the back door, out of the building and into a car where it endured a bit of a nerve-racking drive before the car was parked in front of colourful buildings along crowded pavements.

Carrying it into one, its owner set it on a counter next to an old-fashioned till in a room filled with books and cluttered with antique items, everything here looking as if it existed because it had special meaning to whoever owned this place.

“Angel!”

“Oh, hello, Crowley. I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour,” a voice called from somewhere in the bookshelves. Quick footsteps approached. There was a pause. “Culling the plants again, are we?”

“I can’t have leaf spots in my flat. It just won’t do. Just a dried tip. Cut off that leaf, water it when it starts to dry out and put it in indirect light. It should be fine.”

There was a sigh. The plant assumed it came from the one called “Angel.”

“That’s the second one this month. I’m running out of room for your rejects. You need to learn to live with a few imperfections for once, my dear.”

“Would you rather I really threw them away? Besides they brighten the shop up. I think the rest of mine’ll fall into line now so I won’t have to get rid of any more. They were cowering quite nicely while I was lecturing them. Anyway, lunch? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Lecture? I do believe terrorize would be a better phrase for what you do.”

“Oi! Five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

The door slammed.

The plant, in a state of utter confusion, found itself being inspected rather closely by Angel, who smiled at the terrified thing as he looked it over.

“Hello. You are a beautiful one, aren’t you? Such grand foliage, indeed. And don’t worry; I don’t make it a habit of terrifying houseplants. Really, he does have a bit of kindness in there somewhere otherwise you’d be compost. I’d better go because he does get dreadfully impatient, but it’ll give you a chance to settle in. Later today we’ll find you a nice place to sit and soak up sunlight. Does that sound good?”

As the door closed for the second time leaving the plant alone there on the till counter, it relaxed its leaves a bit, thinking it was going to enjoy living here in this shop with the nice Angel who called it beautiful.


	2. Aziraphale's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody has to take care of the plants when Crowley's unavailable. That doesn't mean Aziraphale's happy about having that responsibility unexpectedly dumped in his lap.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale carefully opened the door when knocking didn’t get him a response, looking around the entrance and down the hallway leading to Crowley’s office.

Walking into the office, he found it empty, that overly dramatic throne of his unoccupied. So was the lounge with its expensive home theatre system. And the additional sitting room Crowley had simply because he found another couch he liked. Aziraphale checked the kitchen, thinking maybe Crowley was just making some coffee. Every room was unoccupied until he got to the master bedroom, where the door was mostly shut, cracked open just a finger’s width.

Carefully, Aziraphale swung the door open. “Crowley?”

He was there, nestled under the black down-filled duvet of his ridiculously large bed that Aziraphale swore could sleep four. Four people who slept normally, that is. Crowley spread out so much he would have eventually pushed the other three out. He was already taking up half of it, limbs askew, sprawled across it almost horizontally.

“Oh good Lord,” muttered Aziraphale, approaching to shake Crowley awake. “Crowley? Wake up, Crowley, you completely missed our lunch date.”

“Huh. . . ?” Crowley mumbled, opening his eyes slightly. “Oh, ok. That’s nice.”

And he rolled over, curling into a nearly-impenetrable fetal position. Frustration surging in him, Aziraphale momentarily mulled dumping him out of that bed with a miracle, but that would be a noticeable and frivolous use of his powers. The last thing he needed was Gabriel asking what he was doing in the flat of a demon. In the bedroom, no less.

“Fine.” Fuming, Aziraphale swept out of the room.

He knew what was going on. Crowley was taking one of his month-long naps. It had been a few years meaning he was due to pull such shenanigans again. Unfortunately, it meant Aziraphale suddenly found himself in charge of watering the plants and making sure the Bentley stayed dent-free in its parking spot. 

Well, everything was all right for today, leaving him with little to do. Unless . . .

He went to the plant room, all smiles and sunshine. 

“Good afternoon, my dears. How are you, today?”

He approached the fishtail palm he knew Crowley was actively bullying, caressing its leaves gently, then pulling off some dead ones the demon somehow missed. He must have had a busy week to neglect the plants so.

“You are such brave plants to endure all his yelling, aren’t you?”

He moved between them a lot like a bumblebee would move between flowers.

“You do have lovely green leaves and those flowers are a wonderful shade of purple. Here, let me get rid of the dead ones for you.” He worked on an African violet, removing all the dried up blossoms. “There, doesn’t that feel better?”

By now, pleasantly surprised houseplants were responding to him, looking taller, happier and if was possible, greener than they did before he walked in. Nobody was cowering. In fact, a few of them were turning leaves or flowers to follow him around the room.

“I must go now, but I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on you all. Don’t worry, he’ll be asleep for a while. It’s a thing he does. Personally, I don’t understand it. Have a good day!”

The door shut in a polite manner, leaving the plants to “look” at each other. Normally the angel just came in and watered them absentmindedly when he cared for them. If he remembered, he turned on the grow lights. Usually the plants used their owner’s extended absence to relax and rejuvenate, not expecting anything more than their temporary caretaker to see to the basics. He certainly had never spoken to them previously and before long, he’d be gone again, their owner back with his terrorizing ways. Holiday over.

But holiday was just beginning. Tall plants let their branches down instead of holding them up high; flowering specimens stopped bud production for a while. The recently bullied sighed in relief knowing they would not have to try to cower behind their neighbours to keep from being seen. The whole room’s atmosphere changed as the foliage enjoyed a breather. Too bad their owner didn’t sleep for longer than a month or so.

One was so happy it bloomed spontaneously.

The next morning they heard the door open quietly. “Crowley?”

No response came from down the hall. The plants went from being on alert to relaxed. A few waited for the entrance of their current caretaker. They were not disappointed.

“Good morning. It’s beautiful outside today, but I know you’re tropical plants, so you’d probably find it a bit chilly.” He bustled around the room as if he took care of the plants on a daily basis.

After checking water levels, he looked at the clipboard of notes their owner meticulously recorded when each was fertilized, repotted or other maintenance was done. A wrinkle in his forehead told them he really wasn’t sure what species listed corresponded with what real-life plant.

“I do hope none of you are going to require more than water while I’m taking care of you. I really don’t know who’s who here,” he said to them.

They followed his progress as he fumbled around, looking for the mister that was used on them at least weekly, sometimes more if humidity was down. It was only a fourth full. The plants watched as it started to fill itself again.

So he was like their owner. Unusual. Not like the humans who grew them, cared for them in greenhouses or the customers who ended up not buying them.

“All right . . . who needs misting? Shake your leaves if you do.”

Several in need of some humidity let him know, receiving a few sprays each along with a bit of praise. The misting was paused when he noticed a few dusty leaves on a rubber plant. He pulled a cloth out of nowhere, wiping down the dirty leaves.

The rubber plant quivered in appreciation.

“I’m surprised that was not noticed. He’s usually so on ball about such things. It just shows he must have needed that nap badly, as annoying as it is when he does so unannounced. I do have a bookshop to run,” he sighed.

The plants listened to him natter on about things beyond the scope of their world, thus beyond their understanding. But his voice was cheerful and soothing, unlike their owner’s. It made them happy just to listen to its cadence.

“Well,” he said after about an hour of chatting. “I really should get back to my bookshop. I will come check on you tomorrow.”

It was like that day after day. The plants knew he would come and talk to them for at least an hour each day, holding a mostly one-sided conversation as he watered and otherwise took care of them to the best of his abilities. They thrived, growing better with his silly old brand of kindness than they did when subjected to the anger of their owner.

One day he brought them a surprise – an English ivy thought lost to the garbage disposal. Cheerfully walking in one morning, he set that familiar plant in the middle of the floor.

“He might be hard on you, my dears, but he’s really not so bad. He brings me the rejects and I take care of them at my bookshop. I’ll leave you all to have a nice reunion now. See you in a little while.”

He came back some time later, gathering up the English ivy, waving for both of them.

“I promise the next time he’s asleep for a while, I’ll bring your friend back for another visit.”

Feeing more confident now that they knew previous victims were actually doing just fine, they grew beautifully on their own terms. The tension in the plant room slowly melted away as the weeks passed. 

Unfortunately the day came when their owner woke up, but things had changed and not to his liking. The plants did what they wanted, much to his extreme annoyance. He had nothing to hold over them anymore, much to the plants’ smug realization. There was the occasional case of brown leaves and growth rates were not where he wanted them. No amount of threatening would change that.

It was a few weeks later when Crowley wandered into Aziraphale’s bookshop for their near-daily standing lunch date looking rather glum.

“What’s wrong?” the angel asked, looking up from where he sat at his desk. “Why the long face? Did you not get enough sleep? You've seemed refreshed these past several weeks.”

“No, that was fine. It’s just the houseplants . . .”

Aziraphale did his best to hide his smile by looking down to concentrate hard on the paperwork in front of him, scribbling some notes furiously. “Are they ok? I watered them every few days like I normally do when you’re unavailable. I’m sorry if I can’t fertilize or anything else.”

“No, it’s not that. You did great, thanks,” replied Crowley. 

“Then what?”

“They’re not listening to me anymore. I’m going to have to get rid of all of them and start over again,” the demon sighed. “So, what do you think about clearing up some area in here? I have quite a few plants to unload.”

Aziraphale had planned for this, spending yesterday afternoon clearing out some space with good lighting. It was a small price to pay for his victory. 

He chuckled. “There’s plenty of room upstairs around the east windows. Bring them by whenever you have a moment.”

Yes, it was truly a small price to pay for victory and well worth it.


End file.
